


We Made A Deal

by Winterling42



Series: Flesh and Blood and Dust [29]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Backstory, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterling42/pseuds/Winterling42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furiosa makes plans with the Rig. Aurelio visits whenever he can. A larger decision is made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Made A Deal

The deal with the Rock Riders was negotiated like this: Furiosa on her bike, bringing two five-gallon tanks of Citadel water as a sign of good faith. Aurelio perched on her handlebars like he belonged there. The riders above her on the cliffs, ten, twenty bullets calling her name with rough fingers on the trigger. Furiosa was good at what she did as Imperator, but she was used to being more intimidating. The mountain riders weren’t a deal she could make by force; it had to be by words. That was alright. She was good at that too.

When she made the deal – three thousand gallons of guzz for a War Rig-sized pass through the canyon – she made it for herself alone. Aurelio didn’t contradict her, but when the thing was sealed by blood on the sand and victory was burning in her chest, he only flipped his wings and looked away.

“I know what you found in the hold of the Rig,” he said, when they were alone. It was not safe to stop in the open Wastes, especially not in Buzzard territory, but Furiosa did it anyway. She stared at her daemon, listening to the engine tick down and wondering what he wanted from her.

“Do you have any idea what would happen if I took them with me?” she asked. “Joe wouldn’t just mobilize the Citadel, he’d call in every scav from here to the Bullet Farm who can shoot a gun. If I go alone, I have a chance.”

“You think he won’t come after his Rig and his trade goods?” Aurelio asked drily.

“He won’t come after them as hard as he will those women.”

Aurelio snorted, a strange sound coming from the little eagle’s beak. “If he’s coming anyway, let them all come. Furiosa, I never knew you to take the low and easy route.”

The squeal of an engine in the distance ended the conversation before she could reply, but her daemon’s words haunted her all the way back to the Citadel. In the end it was not Aurelio’s invisible disapproval that made up her mind, but the announcement of the Dag’s pregnancy.

Joe was in the Vault when Furiosa arrived, an event that the Imperator avoided whenever she could. Bad enough to _know_ what the Wives went through. She didn’t have to see it, too.

And of course, a million times worse than Joe’s patronizing abuse was his geniality when he spoke to Furiosa. She had too much blood on her hands, doing his dirty work, but she’d rather butcher men than stand at his side and be a part, however unwilling, of his tormenting of the Wives. Today it was the Dag forced to sit at his feet, her face stormy but her eyes blank, while Pheona fetched fruits from the table like a dog.

“Such a good girl,” Joe said, with his fingers dug into her silk-fine hair. “You’ll bear me a Warlord, little Dag, won’t you?” The Dag didn’t answer, but then, she wasn’t expected to. If Joe liked reticence in his Imperators, he valued only silence from his Wives. “Well, you’ll bear me _something_ in a few months, anyway. For your sake, pray to me for a boy.” Joe laughed.

Furiosa stared out the window, across to the Garage Tower where Ace and her crew would be. She wished she were with them. She wished she was anywhere but here. The remnants of her victory with the Rock Riders was rotting into hatred for this place, this Vault, this Citadel. She would be glad to leave it in her dust, come time for the supply run.

 

When he was gone, the others uncurled from the timid, frightened masks they wore and stretched angry, lashing insults after him. Capable spat on the chair he’d been using. Cheedo came to touch the Dag’s shoulder, very gently, like the pale-haired Wife might shatter at any moment. The Dag did nothing, but stayed with her knees curled up to her chest, barely breathing.

“At least he won’t take you now,” Cheedo said, her voice torn to shreds. “Now that we know. You’ll have a few months, at least.”

“Yeah, because it’s totally worth all of his punishments not to be touched for a month or two,” Toast said, her voice scalding as hot oil. Sticky. Her hair was just beginning to grow out, though she let no one touch it. The last time Furiosa had been here she’d still been locked in Cheedo’s room.

“Don’t say things like that,” Capable said.

“She’ll keep this one,” Caelai added, a little desperately.

“What if she doesn’t? She hasn’t been able to hold onto the others.” Toast shrugged and her daemon shuffled his feet, uncomfortable.

“If this one goes sour it’ll be her third,” Caelai said softly. Furiosa had a sudden memory of freezing metal against her skin, the terrible freedom of falling. Her stomach swooped and dove like Aurelio in the air, and she had trouble remembering to breathe.

“That’s that then,” Angharad said, twining her fingers through Adara’s fur.

“That’s what?” Toast asked, eager to change the subject.

“We’ll escape before the Dag loses her baby,” Angharad said, like it was as simple as getting water from the tap. More darkly she added, “Our children will not be Warlords.”

There was a long silence. Tarl kept glancing at Furiosa like he was worried she’d report them, but Furiosa didn’t dignify his suspicions with so much as a raised eyebrow. Instead, her heart was tearing itself to pieces, trying to stop the words already leaving her mouth.

“I’ll help,” she said, and to herself thought, _you’ll never make it to the Green Place_. When all the Wives did was stare at her, Furiosa continued, “There’s a hiding place in the War Rig. If we get out of the Citadel alive, I can take you to the Green Place.”

This silence was utterly different than the one that had come before. The Wives, even Pheona, looked at her like she was something awesome. Something rare and precious as water in the Wastes. Furiosa shifted, angling herself away from the intensity of that look, only to have Angharad throw her arms around her. The Wife’s belly was stretched taut and round, but her cheek pressed against Furiosa’s was the softest thing she’d felt in thousands and thousands of days.

“Thank you,” Angharad said, so utterly sincere that guilt rose like bile up Furiosa’s throat. “Now I _know_ we’ll make it out.”

Furiosa pulled away, and Angharad let her go, both of them refusing to look at each other. “It’ll still be dangerous,” the Imperator said, clearing her throat. “None of you have ever done war. You’ll have to to _exactly_ as I say.”

Toast, standing next to the table, picked up a plum and crushed it, watching red juice run through her fingers. “Fine,” she said, gnawing at the pulped fruit. “When do we leave?”


End file.
